


Unsullied

by raskin



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Birthday Party, Clubbing, Colleagues - Freeform, Dancing, Fantasy Wins, Fantasy vs Reality, Gay Bar, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, OCD, Oral Sex, Romantic Angst, Sexual Fantasy, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raskin/pseuds/raskin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chandler attends Meg's birthday party at a gay club, but over the course of the evening is preoccupied with tracking Emerson Kent's movements.  When he can't find him, Chandler imagines he's off doing unspeakable things with other patrons of the club.  This is disturbing; he wants his fantasies of Kent to be clean and pure and lovely.  For the duration of the party, he struggles to free his mind of the nasty images by replacing them with his carefully perfect ones.</p><p>Recall how Chandler chastises Kent for sporting a swollen eye and bandage after his fight with Mansell during Series 4.  I was sad that Chandler was harsh to Ken, so wrote this.  Not to make a happy ending, but to explore what Chandler might have been thinking when he humiliated Kent like that.  I don't know.</p><p>[Wasn't sure how many tags to include, since it's all in Chandler's head anyway, but the story refers to or very briefly describes the following additional acts: oral, anal, M/M/M, spritroasting, sex in men's room, collars, submission.  Sort of tricky, here.  Don't want to blindside any readers, nor disappoint those who are looking for fics about these specific acts.  Thanks for understanding.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsullied

Chandler scanned the club again, trying to find the young man with dark curls, wearing a grey tee. It was crowded, and Kent was hard to keep track of. 

God. He shouldn’t have come. He could have said no. And Meg hadn’t really expected him to accept the invitation to her birthday party at this club. “It’s probably not your kind of place,” she’d said, giving him an out. He asked if it were her kind of place, the gay bar, and she laughed and said Kent had put her on to it, had taken her there for the dancing, which was how it had become a favorite. 

Now, standing against the wall in their private section, cordoned off from the general public, he wondered again how this could be _Kent’s_ kind of place. At work, the D.C. seemed so serious, so cautious, so… innocent. It was hard to reconcile that boy with this scene. Not that it was seedy or dangerous. He supposed it was actually quite upscale, state-of-the art lighting scheme, ace speaker system…

Just then, he caught sight of Kent going through the door marked “Him.”

Yes. _Him._

He spotted another man going through the same door soon after, and was overcome by a disturbing thought. Was that man following Kent in there? Was Kent waiting inside for him to join him? Chandler’s guts spasmed, a quick and unexpected reaction at the thought of the bigger man pulling Kent into the stall with him, pushing him face-first against the wall, pulling his own jeans down while Kent did the same, taking hold of his cock to guide it between Kent’s ass cheeks, then thrusting deep inside. Then Chandler saw, in his tortured mind’s eye, Kent turn his face from the wall, his eyes half-closed, his mouth half-open, farther gone with every driving thrust.

Chandler jerked himself away from the wall, and crumpled onto a banquette bench. He leaned his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to erase the images of Kent and that man in the bathroom stall. It was sordid. Nasty. Dirty.

Desperate to restore Kent’s purity, Chandler invoked a favorite fantasy of his. Leading a naked Kent into the shower stall at his condo, pressing him gently back against the gleaming white tiles, soaping his chest, rinsing off the lather and slowly moving his lips over the clean, smooth skin. All the while watching Kent’s large hazel eyes grow dark with arousal.

It was impossible, though, for this fantasy to come into clear, clean focus. Not here, with the throbbing music and laser lights and smell of cigarette smoke reminding him where he was. His perfect fantasy – one of many, actually – was blurred, not crisp and detailed the way his mind had so carefully described it. He needed to put it away before it became contaminated...

He should leave, he reasoned, head home where he could repair his shower fantasy, make it pure again. Reason did not prevail, however, and Chandler resumed his spot at the wall, and tried to find Kent in the crowd again.

Meg’s party was still at their tables, pouring drinks and toasting the birthday girl. Chandler made the right gestures, raised his glass at the right time, perfunctory and proper, while continuing to monitor the club. Where _was_ he? It occurred to him that here Kent probably had plenty of friends outside of their group, if he was a regular here. Had he gone off with some of them? One of them? _Some_ of them? Did this club have another area, probably down some stairs and behind a heavy curtain, where the established and the invitees could be more comfortable, and have more space… Padded tables and benches and lounge chairs and chaises longues and hammocks.

What if Kent had accompanied someone down there?

_A football type with a shaved head and bunched muscles who would shove Kent to his knees… No, that wasn’t right. There were two of them, teammates. One of them, the darker one rubbed a finger over Kent’s lips, teasing them open. The man pressed the finger inside, then another and another, smiling when Kent began to suck on them. The second man came up behind them and reached around to unfasten Kent’s jeans, pulling them down to his ankles. The next moment, Kent was on all fours, sucking the fat cock of the first man, while the second man was rolling his hands over Kent’s beautiful round ass, pulling the cheeks apart, tracing a fingertip around his hole before easing inside to the first knuckle. Kent shuddered at the sensation. Then the finger jammed in as far as it could, Kent gasped and lost suction on the cock in his mouth. Its owner grabbed a handful of Kent’s hair at the back of his head and crammed the cock back in, deeper this time, down Kent’s throat. The second cock was now at Kent’s hole, about to push in. Kent’s gorgeous eyes were watering, and he was gagging a bit, but his cheeks were hollowed around the shaft of the penis, and his back was arched. He thrust back, desperately trying to get the cock inside him. Both of the men laughed._

_It was horrible. Kent wasn’t to be humiliated like this. He was an angel._

The laughter continued, more than just the two men, more immediate and raucous. Chandler shook himself mentally, returning to the party. 

"Sorry, guv,” someone at the table was saying as the laughter quickly faded. “That was a bit beyond the pale, wasn’t it.”

Some eyes were on him, others were looking down or off to the side. Chandler managed a weak grin. “No, no worries. I’m just… Please, don’t mind me.” He quickly sat and crossed his legs, hoping to conceal the tent in his trousers. “What were you saying?”

Relieved, the group resumed their conversation. Chandler did _not_ resume the fantasy of Kent with the two men. No, he had to banish it forever. Pretending to follow what the others were talking about, he summoned another of his own favorite visions. 

_The Sunday morning sunlight streamed in through the east window of his bedroom, sparkling on their bare skin. He and Kent, lying on their sides, facing each other on the cool white sheets. Knees touching, foreheads pressed together, fingers entwined. Each whispering against the other’s lips their declarations of love…_

“Sir?"

Chandler blinked. 

“Sir? Sir, are you all right?” 

He opened his eyes to find Meg leaning towards him, concerned. He managed a dry laugh. “No, I’m fine.”

“You looked like you were about to pass out.” She seemed to regret her boldness, as if the familiarity she’d shown was a step too close. “Or, uhm, fallen asleep.” 

“Nonsense.” Chandler smiled, assuming the mask that served his class so well in these times, approachable but not reachable. Friendly without offering friendship. “It’s just been a long week.”

“A good one, though, eh, sir?” 

“Indeed. But we’re not here celebrating our good result,” he said with a practiced charm. “Now, if I could only figure out which glass is mine…”

Meg found him a fresh glass, half-filled it from a champagne bottle on ice, and handed it over. Her concern had nearly dissipated. “Sir, I really, really appreciate you coming out with us, but –”

“No more of that, now. Happy Birthday, and many more,” Chandler said, raising his glass. He recklessly gulped down half the contents. They were the only ones left at the table. “Where is everyone, by the way?”

“Out on the dance floor, most of them.”

He couldn’t ask directly if that’s where Kent was, although he was the only one Chandler was interested in. “Let’s join them.” He didn’t really care to dance, but at least the crush of bodies, the flailing limbs, would be an effective distraction. He also wanted to look for _him_ out there.

Following Meg, he got to the edge of the dance floor when he spied his target.

Kent was in the middle of the floor, sort of bouncing to the beat. Like everyone else, he had his arms in the air. Every so often, the bottom edge of his shirt would rise about the low-waisted jeans, baring a bit of smooth midriff. His eyes were closed and lips parted, lost in the music. 

He was beautiful.

Each moment that passed heightened the risk of getting caught staring. Chandler knew he should look away, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the man. The music changed, the tempo and the volume increasing. The dancers let out a collective cheer, apparently recognizing the song. Kent, still in the middle of the throng, broke into a big smile, flashing perfect white teeth. Any moment now he would open his eyes and find Chandler watching him.

_Look away, dammit!_

Chandler was frozen. He couldn’t move.

_Look away look away look away look away._

Before panic seized him for good, he recalled the thick rubber band around his wrist. He drew it back as far as it would go, then snapped it. Son of a bitch, that hurt, but it did the trick. He winced, squeezing his eyes shut at the pain, panting a little. At least he wasn’t staring anymore.

He felt a hand on his chest. Chandler looked down to see a young, slight man leaning into him, batting large, dark eyes. He was fair-skinned and dark haired, and wore a wide black collar around his slender neck. “Have you been looking for me?” the boy chirped, “because I’ve been looking for you…”

Appalled, Chandler swept him away and lurched back to the reserved area. Taking a seat, he rested his face in his hands. This time, a fantasy came unbidden to his mind. 

_He is in his kitchen, preparing a tray of coffee, buns and fruit. Through the window he can see Kent outside on the terrace, seated at the small café table, waiting for him. His heart-shaped face is tipped towards the morning sun, eyes closed to the brightness. Chandler can make out the fringe of lashes against the pale cheeks._

_He carries the tray out to join him and sets it down, then reaches for a piece of fruit to tease Kent’s lips open with. But when he looks down at his hand, he’s holding a thick black leather collar. Kent, mysteriously naked now, kneels on the paving stones at his feet, takes the collar, and places it around his own neck. He lowers his head humbly. “Sir?”_

_Chandler doesn’t know what to do. He has never, in any fantasy at any point in his life, imagined anyone submitting to him. The very idea was abhorrent._

_And yet, looking down at Kent kneeling before him, he is extremely turned on._

He hears Kent’s sweet voice again.

“Sir?”

Chandler’s eyes flew open to find Kent in a crouch at his knees, his strong young thighs straining the fabric of his jeans. His hazel eyes were wide with worry. “Are you all right?”

Chandler was unable to speak. He swallowed several times, painfully, and licked his lips.

“You don’t look well. All white, sort of. Are you feeling ill?” Kent rose and leaned in, extending a palm towards his boss’s forehead to check his temperature.

Chandler raised an arm and struck Kent’s hand away. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped. He was alarmed at how cold he sounded, as if he were repelled at the very thought of Kent’s skin against his own.

Suddenly, Chandler was overwhelmed by everything. The noise, the smells, the flashing lights, the pounding music, Kent’s proximity, his own heart climbing into his throat. He was indeed feeling ill. His stomach lurched, and he was afraid he’d throw up any moment.

He watch in horror as Kent recoiled, staggering back and cradling his arm to his chest as if injured. His lips trembled a bit, and his eyes went round with shock, then hurt. “I’m… I’m sorry,” Kent stammered, before spinning on his heel and escaping into the crowd.

Chandler’s throat tightened and began to burn. Why had he struck out at Kent that way? The boy hadn’t done anything to provoke him, for Christ’s sake. It certainly wasn’t Kent’s fault that Chandler couldn’t control his thoughts. Kent hadn’t planted the fantasies in his mind. Not deliberately, anyway. 

He considered going after Kent to apologize. That, however, might require an explanation, and what could he possibly say? It was an impossible situation. Kent mustn’t know, must never find out how Chandler truly felt. 

The situation was intolerable, and would not be improved by staying here. The sooner he returned home, the sooner he could edit his precious mental images of Kent, deleting the filthy and enhancing the pure. He might even need to create some new ones, unblemished by any scenes from this club.

He said quick goodbyes to Meg and the others he knew, then headed for the club’s entrance. As he wove through the crowd, he didn’t look left or right. For the first time tonight, he did not want to find Kent. 

Outside, full of both shame and relief, he walked alongside the building while keeping an eye out for a free taxi. He rounded the corner, and took no more than three steps when he nearly ran into Kent, who was hunched over against the wall, shaking. Crying. 

It was too late to retreat. Kent’s large, glistening eyes were on him now, stunningly beautiful in his pain. Neither one moved, or spoke, or breathed. In Kent’s expression he saw confusion mixed with hope. 

It would be the perfect time to comfort him, he realized. He so wanted to cup that face in his hands, kiss away the tears, gather him up in his arms, take him home, hold him all night long... “God, Kent, couldn’t you find somewhere a bit more private to have your little breakdown?” Chandler’s voice had never sounded so coldly authoritarian, and his face was so stiff that it hurt.

Kent’s face crumpled, then he turned away. He was swiping at his eyes with balled fists, wiping away the tears. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.

If Chandler were to simply stretch out his hand, he could reach Kent’s bowed shoulder, but he kept his distance. “Show some fucking backbone, man!” 

Now Kent stiffened, drew himself up, took a deep, shuddering breath. He turned to face his D.I., trying to appear composed but still clearly devastated. With voice quavering, he said, “I understand, sir.”

“Seriously, what if someone recognized you? How would that reflect on your position? On the department?” One half of him registered the cruelty in his voice, while the other half marveled at how fetching Kent was with reddened, damp eyes and flushed cheeks.

“It won’t happen again, sir,” Kent vowed, looking somewhere in the vicinity of Chandler’s chest.

Chandler chose to walk past Kent rather than retrace his steps. “See that it doesn’t.” He didn’t look back.

In the taxi ride home, he replayed the encounter over and over again. By the time he was in bed and ready for sleep, he’d perfected it to a most lovely image of Kent crying endearingly when Chandler told him he would love him forever.


End file.
